


Sweetheart

by whiteknucklesparrows



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Creampie, Dark Steve Rogers, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Light Bondage, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24447316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteknucklesparrows/pseuds/whiteknucklesparrows
Summary: Your marriage with Steve is crumbling faster than a chalky sugar heart. You don't understand what he wants from you, but maybe you don't need to.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 128





	Sweetheart

“Hey sweetheart, can I ask you a question?” You reach for the remote, pausing the movie that the two of you are watching as part of Steve’s ‘culturing’.

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Why don't you wear makeup anymore?” You cock your head. 

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t leave the house for anything except groceries anymore and I don’t want to take off makeup if I don’t have to.” Steve pouts.

“You don’t want to look good for me?” You laugh, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes.

“I do look good! What are you talking about?” He sighs reproachfully.

“You know what I mean. I don’t feel special.” You roll your eyes, turning around to wrap your arms around his neck and steal a kiss. 

“Steve honey, you big baby-” beneath you, his body tenses, “-I don’t wear makeup around the house because you are special. You’re one of the only people I feel comfortable and secure around enough to not wear makeup.” The frown doesn’t budge from his face, and this time you sigh reproachfully.

“But if it’ll make you feel even more special to see me all dolled up,” you tuck your chin, looking flirtatiously through your lashes, “maybe I can put on a little mascara,” you run your thumb across his cheek, “a little blush,” his lips feel like velvet under your fingers, “maybe even a little bit of lipstick.” 

“My doll, getting all dolled up.” His breath is warm against your face as he looks deep into your eyes before pulling you in for a slow, soft kiss.You feel him smile against your lips, hand resting on the back of your neck. The two of you stay like that for a moment before you snuggle up against him, resting your head on his chest.

“I love and trust you so much, Steve. And I trust that you’ll still love me without my makeup; that’s why I married you.” You feel him shift back a little and ignore the feeling in your  
gut.

“I know, I know, but you’re so good at doing your makeup and I know how much you like the process.” The feeling quiets, but flares back up at his serious tone of voice. “I just worry sometimes. I know that skipping daily routines is a symptom of depression and...you know.” This is normal, there’s no reason for you to be anxious. Steve is just concerned for your mental health, like any good spouse would be. Your smile looks more nonchalant than you feel.

“Oh Steve, you would know if I was depressed again. You think my skin would look _this_ good if I was depressed?” You preen jokingly, waiting for him to laugh. He doesn’t. You swallow your disappointment and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Okay, I know that this is about more than just makeup. What do you _really_ want to talk about?” Steve’s gaze sharpens at the tone of your voice, thighs tensing beneath you, and he sighs yet again, sounding annoyed.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, gaze lowered. “Nothing; it was stupid to bring this up, I know, I know. Can we just go back to watching the movie?” It’s obvious that something’s wrong, and you calm your nerves as you try to address the issue like a mature adult.

“No, Steve, honey, _please_ talk to me. I want to know how I can make you feel better because obviously something’s wrong.”

“No, it’s fine, lets just watch the-”

“Steve. _Please_. I’m your _wife_.” You try not to feel too hurt that your husband doesn’t want to talk to you about whatever’s troubling him, and try especially hard not to start tearing up because it’s definitely something about you. You gather his hands in yours, squeezing tight. “Please.”

There’s a couple seconds of silence that’s absolutely Steve trying to wait you out before his body finally relaxes and he gives your hands a squeeze back.

“It’s exactly that. You’re supposed to be my wife but I don’t feel like your husband. I feel like- like a close friend. Or a roommate. You never do anything special for me, never wear any makeup or pretty dresses or any of the lingerie I buy you. We don’t have any romantic dinners or good conversations. And when was the last time we had something other than half and hour of tired, vanilla sex in the dark at night? Never!” You shrink back, trying to tug your hands away, but Steve won’t relinquish his grip.

“Oh. Okay.” Your voice is small and pathetic, and you can’t seem to stop the tears that gather in your eyes and spill down your cheeks. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll-” You don’t even know what you were going to say next, because you have to wrench your hand free to press against your face to muffle your sobs. Steve clicks his tongue, sighing.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it. I knew you were going to get your feelings hurt. Come here. Come here, sweetheart.” You try to shake your head, leaning back weakly, but Steve manages to gather you into his arms, shushing you softly. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Calm down, sweetheart. Calm down.” Your shoulders shake as you bury your face in his chest, trying to figure out how it got to this point. Have you really been such a bad wife? You took a month off of work to spend more time with Steve but it seems like that’s backfiring tremendously. The two of you were supposed to spend it together, having fun and doing all the cute couple things that you wanted to do, but then Steve kept getting called into work randomly and missing your dinner plans and planned activities.  
How bad of a wife were you to not see how stressed that was making him?

Your crying slowly subsides, and you untangle yourself from his grasp to blow your nose and wipe at your eyes. At least you didn’t have any mascara to cry off. A warbly little laugh escapes you before the thought sends you through another bout of sobs, but eventually you calm yourself to the point where you can talk and think coherently.  
Steve’s embrace is warm and comforting, and you close puffy eyes as you soak in his body heat.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder from now on.” His arms tighten and you feel him press a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I love you doll.” You sigh, snuggling closer in an attempt to chase more of his warmth.

“I love you too, Steve.”

X

You take Steve’s words to heart, deciding to play with a little bit of your extensive makeup collection while he’s away at work the next day. As you hear him unlocking the front door, your heart leaps into your throat and you practically skip down the stairs to show him your newest look. 

His shoulders are slumped over as he hangs his coat, but perk up when he hears your feet coming down the hall. You do your best to reach him before he looks up, though you are competing against a super soldier so it’s no surprise that he meets your eyes before you’re fully in front of him.

“Wow! What’s this?” You jump in excitement, hands flat under your chin as you move your head side to side to show Steve your newest creation.

“It’s a new look! You were right; doing my makeup makes me so happy! I just-” You shrug your shoulders, too caught in pride for what you consider to be your best smokey look yet to think of a good way to put it into words. “I just feel so good!” You bounce forward, only for Steve to take a step back.

“That’s a lot of makeup, don’t you think? It’s pretty intense.” A broad, beaming smile shines on your face.

“Uh, yeah, that’s like the whole point!” Despite your obvious pride and enthusiasm for the look, Steve still looks unconvinced. Your face falls as you finally, really register how he  
feels about it.

“Oh. Do you not like it?” At your tone that threatens a night of you curled up in the corner of the couch furthest from him, Steve quickly backpedals. 

“No, no, sweetheart, I think it’s nice. I like your other look better, though. Aren’t you scared your skin’s going to be irritated by all this makeup?” Though his voice is concerned, you see right through his words, having lived with him for two and a half years. Still, you appreciate the olive branch he’s offering.

“I’m not wearing that much face makeup.” Despite your joy for your artistry just moments prior, you remind yourself that all good marriages require a little bit of compromise and a lot of empathy. You shouldn’t be so put out; Steve probably isn’t used to seeing so much makeup. After all, he grew up in the 30’s and works at SHIELD; Natasha’s probably not one for experimenting with new eyeshadow styles.

“You’re right though. It is getting kinda itchy.” You can’t bring yourself to look up from the floor when you say it, though you hope Steve will take your olive branch like you took his. “I’m going to go take this off but I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” It takes more effort than you expected to school your voice into something other than a hurt tone, but by the way Steve sighs and reaches a hand out you should’ve put a little more effort in.

“Sweetheart,” his tone is exasperated, and somehow that hurts even more than his critique of your look. You’re trying to make him a little happier, trying to do what he wants you to do but you can’t seem to get it right.

“No, I’m fine. It’s okay, I wanted to try out a new-” You search your mind for some random product to say and get him off your back. “-concealer anyways.” He sighs, this time in relief, and briefly you think about how you learned all about his hobbies and interests and he still can’t tell the difference between a bullet of lipstick and a tube of mascara. 

It’s alright. Steve’s busy. He doesn’t have the time for stuff as silly as this. 

X

You’re busy chopping carrots and potatoes for the pot roast when Steve comes home, and in your surprise and excitement your hand jerks, skimming the top of your fingernail.

“Sweetheart? I’m home.” You drop the knife, giving your now nicked nail a once over before running out of the kitchen to leap into Steve’s arms. He catches you easily, spinning you around once before setting you back down on the ground.

“Steve! You’re home early!” He’s smiling, a broad, genuine thing that you haven’t seen in a while. You feel his eyes travel up and down your body appreciatively, hands tightening around your waist as he bends down to steal a kiss.

“Is this a new dress?” You smile coquettishly, breaking out of his embrace to lift your arms and twirl, delighted by the way the skirt flares out around you. 

“What do you think? I wanted to go for something a little more vintage and this fabric was so cheery and cute!” Your dress, a labour of your own time and love, boasts a pattern of little yellow flowers dotted on a cream background. You’re particularly proud of your thrift find; a whole bolt of fabric _this_ nice is hard to come by. 

The admiration and appreciation in Steve’s eyes makes your stomach flutter, and you feel just as nervous and shy as you did on your first date. Steve cups your face with his hands, taking a moment to admire your makeup, careful not to ruin your carefully curled hair. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His words are whispered, and you flush prettily at his praise. Rather than try to put the joy you’re experiencing into words, you stand on your tiptoes and draw him in for a slow, long kiss. As Steve drags his teeth over your bottom lip, you think about how long it’s been since the two of you shared anything more than just a peck.  
Too long, you think. 

You deepen the kiss, trying to prolong the experience, and the two of you stay like that, lips locked and arms around one another until Steve finally pulls away. He rests his forehead against your, stroking your cheek softly. 

“I missed you.” His words are sincere, almost child-like, and the grin that spreads across your face is equally so. “I missed seeing your pretty face this morning.”

“I was asleep. And I saw you last night.” Despite the teasing nature of your words, it’s nice to know that your husband still wants you around. You grab the back of his neck, straining to reach it, kissing his sharp jawline before stepping out of his embrace.

“Dinner’s not going to cook itself. Give me half an hour and then I’m all yours.” Steve opens his mouth, probably to protest, and you laugh, smacking him gently on the shoulder.

“What, you want to eat whatever cold leftovers we have from last night?” He grabs your wrist as you try and pull away, drawing back in and wrapping an arm around your wrist like a dancer might do with his partner.

“Sure. I’d give up anything for you, sweetheart.” How deep and persistent the burn in your cheeks is starts to worry you, and you look to the side to try and hide how much you feel like a blushing schoolgirl. Why are you so flustered? This is your husband, for heaven’s sake. Much in line with how you flirted throughout highschool, you find yourself spitting out a biting response.

“Well I’m not giving up this pot roast to cuddle with you. If you want to hang around the kitchen you’re welcome to but I have work to do for dinner tonight.” You lift your head in mock airs, Steve smiling fondly as he trails behind you like a deadly, hulking shadow.

You try not to let his presence distract you as you make quick work of the potatoes, despite the fact that he doesn’t try to talk at all. He just watches, face open and interested as if observing a mark. You’ve finished peeling the carrots and started chopping them when he speaks up.

“I love you, you know.” His voice comes from directly behind you, a shock since the last time you saw him he was leaning against one of the counters observing you.

“Oh, fuck!” You jump, knife clattering as it skims the top of your nail for the second time tonight. “Steve, you scared me!” His gaze is intent, frown fixed as he tries to grab at your hand. You pull it back from him, shaking it out before picking the knife back up and continuing. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I’m fine, the knife didn’t even get me.” 

“Sweetheart, you need to be more careful.” Steve acts like he never heard you and chastises you as you swallow your pride and continue to chop the carrots with a swift and precise hand.

“Steve, darling, I’m fine.” You place the knife down carefully and raise your hand, smiling at the way his eyes go straight to your wedding band. “Look. My nail isn't even nicked.” He sighs, wrapping his arms around you and lacing his fingers with yours to press a kiss against your hand.

“I know. I just worry for you. You’re my sweetheart. I can’t lose my heart.” He spins you around, and your stomach leaps at how serious his eyes are. You can feel your cheeks burn, and you can’t maintain eye contact, constantly glancing from Steve’s eyes back to the counter.

“When did you become such a smooth talker? I’ve never heard you say anything like that?” Your words are shy and sweet, and you feel like an avid fan meeting their favourite celebrity for the first time. Steve smiles, wide and self-assured, pressing your hands flat against his chest.

“Sweet words for my sweetheart. I never want to lose you, doll.” Despite the warm glow his statement brings you, you can’t help but feel just a little tense. You love Steve, and you trust him, but this is a level of affection that you’ve never seen, even in the passionate spring of your love. This is...something new. It’s not unwelcome.

Your lips shape into a small smile, and you peer up at him like you’re watching the sun. Your golden-haired, American icon sun.

“I never want to lose you either, Steve.” He smiles at your words, eyes filled with an intense, indecipherable emotion. His grip around your hands tighten before he drops them completely, stepping back to resume his position leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just dropped an emotional bomb on you. 

“Well, I’m not going to stop you from your dinner preparations any longer!” His voice is light and cheery, and you feel almost in a daze as you pick the knife back up. Is this love that you’re feeling? Surprise? Shock? What does it matter, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’ll take the happiness that you can get.

X

Unfortunately, good things never last long. It takes only days after the dinner for the two of you to return to the same state; you trying your best to figure out what to do in order to make Steve happy, and Steve perpetually dissatisfied with everything you try. To his credit, he does try to hide his dissatisfaction, but you’re his _wife_. You’ve known him long enough to know all of his tics and lived with him long enough to know he’s displeased. 

Earlier in the night, you had put on a lacy red lingerie set and lay in bed waiting for your husband to come in, but when Steve finally came to check up on you (after a disappointingly long time) the appreciation in his eyes was brief and quickly snuffed out as he pinched the bridge of his nose and told you that he was too tired. 

You sigh at the memory, shifting in bed as you turn so that your back faces Steve. He’s busy reading a SHIELD dossier, and bitterly, you remember when he used to read the books that you were reading just so that he would have something to talk to you about. Your eyes drift off to the bathroom door as you lay limply in bed, unable to sleep but not trying to stay awake. 

Beside you, you hear Steve shuffle papers as he puts the dossier away and turns off the light, settling into bed before reaching for you. You intentionally scoot further away so that his hand meets the mattress. He shifts a little closer. You move until one leg dangles precariously off the bed. Damn. 

You can hear Steve’s sigh of frustration as he sits up, strong hands grabbing you by the waist and dragging you in until you fit snugly in the curve of his body. Your muscles tense, and you lay like a wooden board in his arms, waiting until his grip loosens to shift away again. 

Steve sighs. “Sweetheart. Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” For a second, you entertain the thought of pretending to be asleep so that the two of you can go to bed and pretend like this never happened in the morning, but you know in your heart that this facade has dragged on long enough.

You turn on the bedside lamp and roll over, eyes looking anywhere but him.

“I think we should take a break.” You can see Steve already opening his mouth to protest, but you rush on so that he can’t cut you off. “It’s just, I know that your job is really stressful and I took time off so that we could spend more time with each other and do all the things that we wanted to do but never did, but it’s not working. You don’t seem to like anything I do anymore and I’m trying, I really am, but I’m just all out of options. I don’t know what else to do.” 

Steve slings an arm over you, and you pretend not to notice how he tenses as you gently push it off. 

“Sweetheart, we can talk about this in the morning.” 

“No, Steve, this is part of the problem. Neither of us will acknowledge that this ever happened in the morning, and I can’t keep living like that. I’ll go and stay at my mom’s house for a couple weeks while we both take time to figure things out.” He frowns, reaching out for you yet again. You push his arm off, yet again, and this time you see his hand flex in frustration.

“What do we need to figure out, _sweetheart_?” The way he spits out his pet name for you is almost mocking. “We’re fine. There’s nothing to figure out.” You sit up, agitated. 

“Sweetheart, sit down-”

“What’s my name, Steve?” He blinks.

“What?”

“What’s my name? You haven’t called me anything but sweetheart or doll for the past month, at least. Probably more.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring right into Steve’s dumbfounded expression.

“Sweetheart, this is ridiculous. Go back to bed.” He reaches a hand out to pull you back down, but you twist away stubbornly, still staring him down.

“Say my name. Say my name and mean it.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Say it.” Steve runs a hand through his golden hair in frustration.

“What does that even mean? You’re being completely unreasonable right now-”

“Really? I wasn’t aware that asking my husband to remember and say my name is an unreasonable demand.” He sputters, flinging his hand out.

“Why do you need me to say it? You know that I know your name. Doll, this is ridiculous.” Neither of you back down, Steve refusing to say your name and you refusing to lay back down in bed and ignore the tension that’s been building for months. You only lose when tears start to blur your vision and you look towards the ceiling to try and stem them.

“Steve, this is why we need a break. I _know_ that you know my name, that’s not the point. The point is that you won’t humor me even for the smallest request. All I asked you to do was say my name and you _fought_ me on this.” Your voice cracks, and you wipe roughly at your nose as snot begins to drip, ignoring your husband’s semi-disgusted look at it.

“I have been fighting to save this marriage, I’ve bent to your every whim and tried to do every possible thing in my power to please you, and yet you’re fighting me on this. My name.” Still, Steve says nothing. You press the heel of your palms against your eyes, swinging your legs out of bed.

“You know what, I’m leaving.” You move towards the closet, heading for an overnight bag. “I leaving until you can sort out whatever,” you gesture in his general direction, “whatever shit you have going on and if you want to find me I’ll be at my mom’s whenever you figure out whether you want a wife or a subservient little-” the anger and resentment that’s been building up for far too long finally comes to a head, causing you to choke on words in your throat.

“Subservient little pet, or slave, or whatever. I don’t begrudge you whatever stress and pain you bring home from work but I’m not just going to sit here and play house while you take it out on _me_.” Throughout your whole impassioned speech Steve has done nothing but watch you with an eerily blank look on his face, thoughts hidden from you. 

It’s extremely unnerving, especially since you’ve never felt so distant from him before. It isn’t until the duffel bag is mostly filled and you’re angrily shoving socks and underwear into whatever gaps are left that he sees to register that you’re not kidding; this isn’t actually a ploy for attention. 

“Doll-” You ignore him, grabbing whatever makeup is within reach.

“Doll.” There’s a touch of anger in his voice now, and you want to laugh. What the fuck does _he_ have to be angry about.

“Sweetheart, get back in bed. I promise we can talk about this in the morning.” You’ve heard that phrase too many times to trust it, moving towards the bathroom for toiletries. The sound of your name from his lips, hard and angry, is what stops you.

“I’m not going to say it again. Get. Back. In. Bed.” You turn to face him, carefully schooling your face to disguise the anxiety brewing in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard him use this tone of voice before. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so snarky about this.

“Steve-” 

“Bed. Now.” You soften your voice, leaning back against the chest of drawers. 

“Steve, I’m going to go. Nothing you say now can sway me otherwise.” There’s a tense moment of silence where he pierces you with a deep, unfathomable look, but the tension breaks when he looks down at his lap and sighs.

“Sweetheart, I gave you so many chances and you just ignored all of them. I can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” Steve gets up and reaches into his bedside table drawer, and the anxiety turns into full blown fear, and you know what? Fuck the clothes and toiletries; you can always get new ones. You need to get the fuck out, now. 

You make it about two steps to the door before he’s on you, jerking your arms behind your back and roughly binding them together with the silk rope you bought him. It seems fluid, practiced even, and you feel sick to your stomach thinking about how and when Steve's done this before. The bindings are tight enough to have your fingertips tingling, and you wiggle your hands as he throws you face down onto the bed.

“Steve, please-” The pain that sparks across your scalp as he pulls your head back by a fistful of hair is enough to make you yelp and stop struggling, and Steve takes the opportunity to yank your pants and underwear down.

“ _Sweetheart_. I gave you more than enough chances. You made your bed, now lie in it.” He shoves your head back down into the sheets, and your struggles to turn it and see ends as soon as you feel cool metal against your neck. Steve laughs darkly, exerting just the slightest bit of pressure on the blade before lifting.

“Don’t worry; you haven’t been _that_ disobedient.” You tense as the blade slices cleanly through your pajamas, a soft, oversized t-shirt that you had stolen from Steve the first night you stayed over. Where did the sweet, loving gentleman you knew go? The feeling of rough fingers against your clit, stroking and rolling in an attempt to draw some warmth in your body out has you bucking away, as much as you can.

“Steve, please don’t. We can just go back to bed. You’ve made your point.” The feeling of two fingers thrusting roughly into your mostly dry pussy is your only answer, massaging your g-spot until the filthy squelch of your arousal around his fingers is all you can hear. 

“You know, I really was too tired earlier, but something about you acting like a _brat_ got me all riled up. It’s a shame you’re not still in the lingerie, but I guess it’s good that I won’t have to rip it off of you.” He yanks his fingers out, wiping them on the back of your thigh. Above you, you hear the sound of fabric rustling against skin before his boxers are thrown haphazardly into a corner of the room.

The shriek that erupts from you as he drags you towards the foot of the bed by your legs is inhuman, and you’ve never been so terrified to have someone between your legs like Steve is. The feeling of his hot cock pressed against the inside of your thigh has your stomach dropping, and you swear it’s never felt this big.

“Steve, please-” He grabs you by the back of your neck and pushes down, smushing your face into the sheets.

“Unless you’re about to tell me how much you want me to fuck you, I wouldn’t suggest talking at all.” He sounds like he’s talking about what you’re going to have for dinner tomorrow night, voice completely calm as he dips three of his fingers inside your pussy, slicking them up before rubbing it on the head of his cock. 

As the tip nudges at your entrance, you try to force your body to relax. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before exhaling shakily, and try to pretend that you’re just having some loving sex with your loving husband who still looks at you without mild annoyance written across his face. You guess that Steve feels your body relax beneath him, because he lets out a dark laugh before running a hand soothingly up your spine.

“See? You love this.” It’s a small mercy that he pushes in slowly. He slides a hand under your stomach, to do what, you don’t quite know, but the pressure against your pelvis has you crying out, walls spasming around the portion of Steve’s dick that he’s managed to fit it. His responding groan is low and almost unhinged, and you make the mistake of clenching your abdomen right as he shoves the rest of himself in.

The sudden pain is almost unbearable, and you sob into the bed as Steve slowly pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward again.

“Stop, stop!” He shoves your face further down with one hand to muffle your cries, the other grabbing your hips bruisingly tight as his thrusting speeds up. The fabric is making it hard for you to breath, and in your panic, you try to buck Steve off of you, only enticing him to bend further over your body, pressing your whole torso into the bed and putting a painful amount of pressure on your bound arms.

“God, keep doing that, sweetheart. You feel so good when you move like that; your pussy’s just sucking me back in.” The weight on your ribs is almost unbearable, mucus and snot from you crying beginning to clog up your nose. You gasp for breath as the pain and panic gets to you. 

“Off, Steve, please, get off...” Your words are weak and for a couple terrifying seconds you wonder if he even heard, hips pumping in and out just as hard. It’s only when your whole body starts to go limp that he even slows, lifting you by the shoulders.

“Don’t go passing out on me, sweetheart. I want you to be present for all of this, okay?” His voice is sickly sweet as he pulls out and flips you over on your back, pulling your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Why can’t you let me go? Why me?” Your words come out garbled by your tears as your shoulders strain painfully and your hands scrabble against the sheets. Steve smiles mockingly, hiking your legs higher on his shoulders so that he can bend down and steal a kiss.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re mine. And I won’t tolerate _my_ doll disobeying me.” You cry harder, snot running down your face and making an unattractive mess. 

“Steve, I _love_ you.” You try to convey the pain and love and emotion you feel through a single look, and your heart skips a beat as he slows.  
The relief and overwhelming hope you feel as Steve stops to pull out and grab a tissue is unlike any you’ve ever felt before, wiping your face off with a tenderness that you’ve dreamed of for the past month. He pets your cheek, wiping your tears with a single knuckle before brushing back the hair matted to your face by tears and sweat. 

“Shh, shh, calm down, sweetheart. Calm down.” Your breathing regulates and you stop crying as Steve soothes you, gently running his hands up and down your body as he draws the tension from your form. You almost believe that your nightmare is over as he brings your legs down to rest around his hips, slowly thrusting in and out of your sore cunt.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re so ugly when you cry.” His words cut you to your core, and whether from shock or pure pain no more tears fall. He massages your tits with both hands, tweaking your nipples and groaning as you tighten around him. 

“Yes, that’s it, sweetheart. God, everytime you give me that pathetic little sad look it makes me want to bend you over and fuck it right off your face. You’re so goddamn annoying when you make that face.” Steve rubs harshly at your clit with every word, leaving you unable to do anything but clench around his cock.

“That’s it; you look best when you’re silent and on your back, where you belong.” His other hand slides up your thigh, resting lightly on top of your stomach before pressing down.  
The gasp that escapes you is purely reactionary, and Steve lets out a hiss as he feels the slight bulge from him fucking deep into you. 

He presses harder, causing his tip to scrape against the rough spot on your walls with every thrust, and you feel the familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach. You can tell that Steve feels it too by the way he speeds up, the bruising force with which his pelvis collides against yours.

“Come on, cum for me sweetheart. I can feel your cute little walls milking me. God, you’re going to be such a cute mommy, I’m going to make you a mommy.” The words are breathless, and the way Steve pushes harder against your clit has you flying off the edge, back arching and body seizing as he continues to fuck you through it. 

“I can’t wait to see the way your tummy’s gonna swell, tits full and leaking milk-” The disgust that rises within you is visceral, and yet you’re powerless to stop him as his hips come to a stuttering halt, cock shoved as deep as possible within you until his tip kisses your cervix, the feeling of burning cum scalding your insides causing your walls to flutter around his dick. 

Steve’s head of golden hair drops and rests against your chest, the warmth of his panting breaths ghosting along your skin. Nimble fingers work at the rope binding your hands together before tossing it carelessly into a corner of the room.

He plays with a couple strands of your hair before smoothing the rest back from your sweat-slicked forehead, the gesture unexpectedly sweet. You continue to stare up at the ceiling. You’ve never been more thankful for your IUD. As if reading your thoughts, Steve cups your cheek with a large hand, turning your head gently to face him.

“I love you, sweetheart. We’re going to go to your gynecologist tomorrow and you’re going to take whatever birth control you have out of you and then we’ll come home and I’ll really make you a mommy.” He runs a hand through your hair, watching as a look of terror plays out across your face. Besides your fear, you give no indication of having heard or processed his words, and he sighs before grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling your head back.

“Tell me you understand. You’re not going to run off to your mother’s or anywhere, and if you try I’ll make sure that you have nowhere to run to. I’ll kill everyone you know if I have to.” The nonchalance of his words frighten you, and you do your best to will away any lingering dread and dismay from your face, lest he make good on his promise to fuck it away.

“Yes, Steve. I understand.” Your words are nothing more than a whisper, but he seems satisfied.

“Good girl.” He runs a hand down your side, feeling the tension in your body. “I love you. I’m only doing this for your own good. You need to learn that your place is in the house beside me and in the bed under me. Maybe once you stop thinking about that independence nonsense we can talk about letting you out in public on your own. But for now I’ll be taking time off to make sure that you’re not trying anything stupid. Am I understood?” You nod.

“Yes, Steve.” Maybe it’s your compliance that stirs affection in him, or maybe it’s the remnants of the man you first married, but the softness of his face is like anything you’ve seen in the past couple months. 

“I love you, sweetheart. I chose you for a reason and I can never let you go, no matter how selfish I may seem.” He pulls you closer, the hand on the back of your head pressing your face into his warm chest. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever allowed myself to be selfish about, and I can’t bear to give that up. You’re my heart, sweetheart.” The tickle of warm breath against the shell of your ear lets you know that he’s still talking but nothing is louder than the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the roar of blood rushing in your head. 

You’ve known that you’re his heart, the thing that keeps him sane and safe and alive, the thing that inspires overwhelming love and staggering cruelty. You realize now that it was never a good thing to be. As crucial as you are to his functioning, you’ll never be your own person. You’ll never be a person to Steve. Your name from his lips, soft and cautious, is what breaks you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I haven’t been the nicest to you but we can fix that. I’ll show you how much I need you, how much I love you, and you’ll see. You’ll learn to love me like you did when we first got married.” The wave of despair at the irony of his statement is overwhelming, and you wish that it had come a month earlier. Maybe if it had, this whole incident could’ve been avoided. Maybe this incident was unavoidable. 

Steve stretches an arm out across you to turn off the light, the soft click bringing much needed darkness. As your own pulse settles and you feel Steve’s breaths go steady and shallow, you slip away to thoughts that both delights and terrifies you.

You are irreplaceable. Steve will give up everything he has to keep you, even your own happiness and love for him. He will never give up enough.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit the [hellsite](%E2%80%9Dhearteyes-candyskies.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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